Final Act, Exit Puppet
by Lilac Papillon
Summary: Contrary to what the Savior believed, this was the only role he had in this part of the story. This was the only role he had ever had in any story. He was no knight in shining armor, he was no prince of charm, and he was never supposed to use magic himself. But he was not about to allow himself to fail again as the Savior's protector. One-shot, Wooden Swan/Swan Puppet, future AU.


**Final Act; Exit Puppet **

_**Rating:**__ K+ for dying people (PAIN), heavy angst and emotional turmoil. _  
_**Characters/Pairings:**__ August/Emma; whether it's fully mutual or not can be left to you.  
__**Spoilers:**__ "The Stranger", "An Apple Red As Blood", and "A Land Without Magic" mostly.  
__**Disclaimer:**__ Once Upon A Time does not belong to me.  
__**Notes:**__ I assumed I was finished writing August angst after Cry Conscience, Cry. I ASSUMED before deciding to write ATSANP that I was done writing August in general. Three sketches later of Emma in some kind of garb that looks like young Regina's, Snow, and Charming's all mashed together + Huntsman and older!Pinocchio, I had proved my assumption most incorrect. So with what I could not create in pictures (for now), I decided I could try to create it with words. _

_Takes place in a future AU in which the fairy tale world is the setting, the villain has been undecided, magic be all up in da hood, and everyone is fighting as hard as they can to make sure good triumphs over evil. _

* * *

"This isn't fair. You were supposed to _protect _me."

The human puppet could not help but scoff amusedly, ignoring the searing pain riveting throughout every muscle and blood pathway in his body as he forced his head to lift, to look up at _her –_ the Savior, as she had been known to many (himself included) – looking far from the brave, confident hero she was meant to be as all he saw was the terrified Emma Swan he knew so well. Even dressed in the most regal red coat, the finest silk shirt, and a brooch of a golden star pinned to this frilly, lace-trimmed ascot that once upon a time he never would have even thought her capable of donning – she was still the same when he had first met her: stubborn. Hard-headed. Doubtful. _Lonely. Afraid._

Emma Swan may be the Savior, the Hope for all of them, but deep down she was indeed just like them – well, most of them, he reminded himself as he could feel his bones and flesh turn brittle and cold again. She was mortal, she was a human. And as a human, she had her human flaws and weaknesses. It was something he had gradually and willingly learned to accept; learned to love.

And now here she was, as vulnerable and confused as the first time she had realized her role in this story, clutching the fabrics of his vest and his shirt with her white-gloved fingers and staring up at him, desperation written ever-so-clearly over her pale, stricken visage. Unruly golden strands of hair framed her face. Eyes as blue and brilliant as the morning skies were beginning to water.

He inhaled sharply, grinding his molars together, ignoring the tears that made their journey down the sides of his cheeks. His fingers curled and clenched themselves into fists, his knuckles white underneath his gloves.

"I did," he responded, his voice hoarse and frail. He exhaled. "My work here is done."

Of all the sacrifices he had to make for this stubborn, hard-headed, beautiful woman just so she could realize her potential, to fully embrace what magic she held within her, and what heroism she was destined to perform – it had to be now, back home at last, in an enchanted forest that had been _cursed _by black magic. And out of all the living beings in this world, it was he who had originated in this exact forest, so of course the moment that damn psychopath with a magic hat had to go berserk over his daughter's vengeance, he had to _expel _whatever magic was placed within his own body to save her from dying.

It was not a pleasant feeling, returning back to one's roots. The irony of it was...sickeningly poetic, actually, as he could feel the veins of extracted magic attached to every important joint of every limb and bone practically yanking away at his life strength, and the cursed forest shrieking out his name as vines slowly entangled his already transformed legs, trying to reconnect with his outer shell; take him down with them and convert him to eternal darkness.

It hurt. Every part of him hurt. It hurt to talk, it hurt to move, it hurt to _breathe._ He knew what this was; he had already felt it before, except now when the stakes were higher and every last drop of magic was needed for the final battle, it hurt a _thousand _times worse than it ever has before. And the Savior, Emma – after she had hacked and slashed as much abominations of nature that had tried to snake and slither their way to her and him, even try destructive spells she hadn't even mastered yet, and realizing it had no avail – she knew how much pain he was in as she shook her head, still struggling not to cave into her basic human weakness.

"This can't be how it ends. This wasn't supposed to happen!" She blinked, her bottom lip quivering. "We should have listened to Jiminy, damn it! Now him, and your dad...and now you..." The Savior choked back a sob, whispering his name; his real name, a name she had once refused to call him only out of her own denial of accepting what was around her. "I need you. I need you!"

"No, you don't. You...never needed me..."

"Shut up, just shut the hell up, you _liar, _yes I do!"

He forced himself to chuckle again, even though he wasn't sure how much more he could take even when she practically whined in bitter contempt. He _hated _seeing her like this, because all it did was make him hate himself all the more, knowing that in the end all he kept doing was hurting the person he was supposed to protect from day one. He hated being cared for, "having strings attached"; it was so easy back then just to do whatever the hell he wanted without Jiminy's watchful gaze or Gepetto's stern lectures, and even though he knew it was for his best interest, he felt like he did more damage than repair every time whatever was on the line was held in the balance of their worlds.

Too many people have wasted tears on him; there were others more worth it than he – especially the life of the Savior's son, locked away with the time ticking away in the darkest, evillest area within the land. He tried to speak again, except he could feel himself reverting back faster than he wanted, and all he managed was a strangled croak.

He would not be able to hold this whole forest back for much longer.

Emma's eyes widened again in fear, and he inhaled sharply, his whole chest trembling, before he managed to force out words from his drying lips:

"You have to leave."

He had expected her to protest as she shook her head again, vehemently denying his request, screaming his name and gripping his vest even more. "Don't leave me again on my own. Haven't you left me on my own enough times already?"

The dark magic was beginning to take effect, and he bit back a sharp cry, tasting sap rather than blood. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking uncontrollably.

"Leave. _Now. _Or you won't make it..."

"But you'll _die!"_

Vines, thorns; he felt like they were piercing every organ within him as they merged with what was turning back to his original state; further back before Gepetto had brought him to life. He was not even going to revert back to a varnished doll with strings. No, he was going to become a damn tree, and there was no way he'd further that damnation by allowing the Savior to die alongside him when that happens.

With that, he re-opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

And with the last of whatever magic was left within him, he pushed his veins to breaking limit and forced the strings attached to him to pull himself upwards, away from her while the rest of the forest chased him. The Savior gazed up at him; bitter, upset, _betrayed_, but no matter; this was for her own good. He'd watch after her, even in his final moments.

But then, he saw his name slip through her lips as not a forlorn, mourning cry, but rather a white flag. It seemed like surrender; it seemed like a final goodbye. This time, it wasn't his real name; it was the name he had first given her when he had arrived on a motorcycle back in Storybrooke, the name that they had first reunited over, the name that had made their bond stronger.

It was too much, and he inhaled once more, ready to allow his eyes to close before they became glass again, and surrender himself in hopes that his sacrifice would not be in vain.

But before he even exhaled, the aura of the Savior had shimmered, her gaze had hardened, and those eyes resembling diamonds in the bluest waters were the only thing he remembered seeing before there was a blinding flash of light, and an ethereal promise whispered into the warm whiteness that engulfed him before he had disappeared from any physical world:

_"August, wait for me. I'll save you again."_

* * *

**The End**


End file.
